Fear of Love
by regnum
Summary: “My name?” he laughed quietly, “You don’t need to know my name.” He smirked, pale white teeth gleaming in the darkness, “I’m all too certain we’ll meet again.” [SORATO]
1. Ichi: Darkness of the Damned

**Fear of Love**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

**A/N: I know I should be working on Recollections, but I'm seriously stuck for inspiration with that fic. That, and I saw Queen of the Damned recently and really, really want to write a vampire-ish fic. **

~

**Ichi: Darkness of the Damned**

****

Long, pale fingers caressed the cold metal, grasping the microphone in an almost loving embrace – ironic, as he was one who could not love. Bloodless lips moved, forming words that lingered on the air, his beautiful voice enchanting all who listened. 

His eyes opened, cold gaze sweeping the crowd. Those icy blue eyes revealed his soul, or rather, lack of a soul. They were the defining feature of his pallid face, a brilliant blue that stunned all that saw them. Only when his victims looked into his eyes did they realize that he was not human, only then did they taste fear. By then, it would be too late. 

The cold wind whipped fine blonde strands of hair past his face, but he didn't feel it. He could not feel. Emotions were a foreign body, unknown, dangerous. He couldn't remember when the last time he had been happy, the last time he had been sad. When you were immortal, emotions didn't matter. Au contraire, life was a game and the challenge lay in how long he could carry on his existence without being discovered. 

He was ageless, time held no meaning for him. Being forever held in the body of a youth of eighteen was tedious at best. But for so long now, he had known nothing else. He supposed at one time he had had a family, at one time he had been mortal. He couldn't remember, his mentor had taught him to reject the human side, to revel in his immortality. 

The last notes of the music faded on the wind, and his lips curved into a smile that was almost sadistic in nature. 

"Arigato," he said smoothly, studying the faces in the crowd, "That's all for tonight." 

He paused, allowing their screams to fill the air. They loved _him. Even now, their screams reached a crescendo, his name echoed through the stadium, music to his ear. _

Slowly, he moved towards the center of the stage, returning the microphone to its stand. The wind picked up again, and his loose black silk shirt fluttered, wrapping itself more firmly around his thin frame. Another smile for his fans and the lights dimmed, leaving the stadium in almost complete darkness. 

He left the stage, their screams still ringing in his ears. 

~

He waited in the shadows patiently. The bloodlust beckoned, reminding him of his hunger. _Soon, he promised himself, all he needed was the right victim. _

There. 

Two girls, both around his presumed age, no older than seventeen or eighteen. One was blonde, her hair forming a halo under the harsh white lighting. She wore heavy make-up, wrapping her long, brown faux fur coat around her slender body. Thin legs were encased in black leather boots that ended just under her knees. Mascara ringed eyes peered worriedly into the darkness, she was obviously looking for someone. 

Her friend had hair that was obviously dyed black, her face was powder pale, making her eyes appear darker than they really were. Black was the dominant colour of her ensemble, from the long black trenchcoat to the tight jeans that seemed painted on her. Even her lacquered fingernails glinted darkly in the bright light. A half smoked cigarette hung from her lips as she leaned against the ticket booth. 

He smiled, and stepped into the light. 

The cigarette fell from slack lips and the blonde's eyes widened in amazement. Calmly, he pulled out his own packet of cigarettes, lighting one and placing it to his lips, inhaling deeply. Then he offered them the packet. Red painted lips worked soundlessly for a moment, and he waited, enjoying the game.

"You-you're…"

The smile grew wider still, revealing milky white teeth, the incisors gleaming wetly in the light, "Ishida Yamato," he finished.

He enjoyed this game, watching as they regained their composure, smiling coyly at him and introducing themselves. He kept the smile on his face, his hunger growing more acute as he thought of the feast he would soon indulge in. They almost fell over themselves accepting his invitation back to his hotel room. 

It was almost…pathetic.

~

The two girls looked around his room, wide eyed. He caught the looks they kept giving each other, as though they couldn't really believe they were in _the Ishida Yamato's hotel room. He poured two glasses of wine, offering it to them, the dark red liquid made him smile coldly._

He sat on the sofa, his fingers gently caressing the dark leather, admiring the contrast it made against his pale skin. As though on cue, the two girls sat next to him, one on each side. Yume, the blonde, smiled at him winningly, "I loved your concert, Ishida-sama." Her fingers crept over to his shirt, beginning to unbutton the black silk. 

He made no move to stop her, leaning closer to caress her face with cold fingers, "Drop the formalities, Yume," he whispered in her ear, "Just call me Yamato." 

The smile on her face grew, and she lowered herself into his lap, moving to kiss him. "Anything you say…Yamato." 

"That's a good girl," he could see the pulse in her neck, knew each heartbeat as though it was his own. The hunger pains grew and he pushed back her hair, revealing the lily white skin of her neck. He bit down, and a gasp escaped her lips. Slowly, tenderly, his teeth broke the skin, pushing deeper into her bloodstream, eliciting a cry of pain. 

He drank, savoring the taste of the warm liquid that ran down his throat. She struggled in his grasp, fighting to get free. In response, he tightened his grip, not releasing her until he drank her dry. Gently, he laid her back on the couch, her skin a deathly shade of white. He knew she hovered on the brink of life and death. Only he could save her, and there was no merit in that. Her face was damp, streaked with silent tears. 

There was a choked cry from the other side of the room. His cold blue eyes took in the huddled form of the other girl – what was her name again? It didn't matter anymore. Before she realized it, he was standing next to her. Fearful eyes stared up at him, her breathing was erratic and she tried to move from under his gaze, only to find the wall behind her. 

He smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth, "What's the matter? Scared?"

She screamed.

~

**A/N: What do you think? Love it? Hate it? Reviews please! This will probably turn into a Sorato later on. But don't let the coupling phase you, it's gonna be much more than just another romance fic. For those wondering about my webpage, I'm working on getting it back online, so don't worry, Cherry Blossoms and Ki Blasts will be back soon.**


	2. Ni: Welcome to My Life

**Fear of Love**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. In particular: ****SailorEevee – Thanks for the review J In return, I give you…more! ****Z – I'll try my best to keep it to your standards. ****Valerie – Glad you like it, hope you like this one as much! ****Silver Horizon – I hope I don't get stuck on this one too! Haha…glad you like the idea. ****Sora Rau – Thank you for your review! I'm working on the website…looking for a new (banner free) server, if you hear of anything, let me know! ****Radical Yamadrak – Glad you like it! I'm trying to make Yamato less like Lestat though, I don't want it to be a copy of Queen of the Damned…although I did like the movie, and Lestat is just yummy J ****Ying-fa – Glad you like! Read more! ****Venursia – I agree! I'll continue J ****Crayon – Hope the descriptions are as good this chapter! ****Sora's Twin – Don't want it to be exactly like the movie…but I'm continuing! I'm continuing! ****Sorato - *blushes* Wow…you did that?? I'm working on the next chapter…just a little blocked. Don't worry, it's coming! **

~

**Ni: Welcome to My Life**

If there was anything that anyone found odd about that man that had situated himself in the back of the diner, no one mentioned it. His all black ensemble contrasted with his almost too pale face, but what really made him so unusual was the fact that he was wearing dark glasses and it was eleven o'clock at night. 

He ordered only coffee, and then he barely touched it, stirring the dark liquid only occasionally. It was not this bitter tasting liquid that he thirsted for. Indeed, the memory of mortal drinks grew faint in his mind. At one time he had been human, eating and drinking as any flesh and blood creature would. But now there was only one drink he craved, only one taste that remained in the foremost of his mind, the sweet, saltine taste of blood. 

He was the damned, one of the undead and he lived the life that most mortals only dreamed about. He was the rock star, the puppeteer, he was what the women craved and who the men wanted to be. He was Ishida Yamato, and he was bored. 

Long fingernails tapped against the hard wooden surface of the table. Strange how the mortal world could be so tiring sometimes. Even killing didn't excite him anymore, perhaps because there was no longer a hunt. The fool mortals he 'hunted' we always so pleased to see him. So excited to be in the presence of _the Ishida Yamato that they didn't realize they were doomed until the last moment. _

No, what he wanted was a challenge, someone who would run from him, hide from him…fear him. 

He climbed to his feet, black trenchcoat swirling around his equally dark jeans. Slender fingers gracefully placed a tip on the table the silver coins gleaming on the unpolished wood. The faintest smile for the girl behind the counter and he was out the door. Only the noisy jangling of the bell hanging above the exit proved his existence.  

~

It was cold outside but he didn't feel it. Cold was another dimly remembered feeling. The years of his existence seemed to weigh on him heavier than ever before. For a fleeting moment he wondered what it would be like to have clung to those things that made him mortal. To have cared for his father – the last of a dying generation of samurai – even has he had lain dying, to have watched his younger brother grow into the man he never could be, to have swallowed his stubborn pride and told his mother that he loved her. 

But regrets were for mortals, not for those who would live forever. Forever is a long time to brood over past mistakes. The wind swept past him, blowing the trenchcoat open. A pale, white hand pulled at the heavy material, closing it again. An illusion of being cold, of being human. His blonde hair fell into those ethereal blue eyes rakishly, emphasizing the youth of his features. 

To be forever eighteen, to never grow old, to never die. When his maker had offered him all this he could not refuse, he had been young and foolish, never knowing how the years could weigh a man down. He could not deny the monster he had become, even now his thirst beckoned, reminding him of his need to drink. Reminding him of what he was. 

A man in an alley, the vermin of society, homeless, jobless, penniless. He would be doing the world a favor, doing the world a favor and satisfying his hunger at the same time. 

His black boots splashed through the puddles in the alley as he single-mindedly moved towards his prey. He was the angel of death, and the angel of death had chosen.

~

The old man rummaged through the dumpster, hoping desperately for some scraps. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, but lately everything about life had seemed vague. He only knew of his hunger, ever since his wife had died, leaving him alone in this world, his life had been set in a downward spiral. No children, he'd lost his job due to his age, then his home and all his possessions, now he only had his dignity to lose. 

He didn't see the wraithlike figure materialize behind him, turning only at the touch of a cold hand on his shoulder. 

"MINE!" he snarled violently, a knife appearing in his dirty hand, he had been the first at this dumpster and it was _his. "It's mine! I found it first!" _

"I don't want your filthy midden, old man," the voice was hard as steel and yet gentle, comforting, "Tell me, how has life been treating you?" 

The man squinted at him suspiciously, "What do you care?" 

"It's been tough, hasn't it?" Pale fingers stroked the rough fabric of the man's jacket. His icy blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkened alley. 

The first touch of real fear, "Who are you? What do you want with me?" Feebly, he attempted to step back, brandishing the knife again when he realized that he could not break the firm grip. 

"Are you ever lonely?" 

A single tear trickled down the old man's cheek, cutting a trail in the grime that had collected in the wrinkles, "Y-yes." He whispered softly. 

"Then let me help you be free." 

That voice, offering the illusion and promise of comfort, was what lured him in. He knew that death was knocking and he accepted it readily, closing milky green eyes and awaiting the inevitable. 

Sharp teeth bit down on his neck, puncturing the skin and finding his bloodstream. Gentle lips on his skin, feather light, but it wasn't enough to make him ignore the pain. A soft gasp slipped past his numbed lips as he felt the life being sucked out from him. His knees buckled and he found himself being lowered slowly to the ground. 

Then there was nothing but cold. He blinked, struggling to rid himself of the darkness that hovered against the edge of his vision. A pale face, with cold blue eyes and wind-tossed blonde hair floated into his line of vision, the lips moved soundlessly, blood – his blood – still staining them. Then the light faded completely. 

Ishida Yamato stared at the limp body lying at his feet. Another human fallen prey to the powers of the dark. Why should he care? But, as he turned to leave, the pale light from a street light overhead revealed the twin tracks of the two bloody tears that had fallen from those ice blue eyes. 


	3. San: First Encounter

**Fear of Love**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: To my reviewers, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me that you like and appreciate this. More specifically, ****Blacknight – Thanks, I try to be as descriptive as I can (Inspiration from Tolkien?) and I'm glad someone noticed ^^ ****Rose – (To quote a good friend of mine…) Continuing, continuing! ****SailorEevee – Hooked? Like a fish? I'll try and keep up to your standards! ****Silver Horizon - *blushes* Going pro? I'd like too…but I'm not creative enough! One day maybe, ne? ****BlueSkyTai – You love it? Honto ne? Wow… ****Miyu444 – I loved Queen of the Damned too! My inspiration shall we say? ****SuniD – Will and am continue(ing) ****Vernusia – Favorites list? *blushes* Thank you! ****Sora's Twin – And I present you with the next chapter! ****Crayon – Yamato in black? Why do you always present me with these wonderful visualizations? ****Synthetic Iris – Thanks for such a sweet review! ****Valentine ****Taylor – Patience is a virtue…but I *try* to get these out quick! ****Raie – The angel of death thing was spur of the moment, I swear!**

**San: First Encounter**

A computer screen glowed unwaveringly in the darkened office. The woman sitting at the desk stared unblinkingly at it, her fingers moving at a frantic pace, typing what could be the next front page headlines. Beside her right hand, sat a cup of coffee, long since gone cold. On her left were her notes, scattered haphazardly on the surface of her table. 

The sound of her typing was the only thing that broke the silence in the office, its booths vacated and empty. But not her. She wouldn't be leaving this place until she was damn well good and ready. Her hands picked up pace, feverishly trying to record all the events in her head in the computer.

This carried on for an uncounted number of minutes. She had been at it since eight that morning, tracking down leads and interviewing people. The rough draft of this story had long since been written, this was the final editing process. Now this story had to be finished in time to be printed the next morning. As though on cue, her stomach growled noisily, breaking the monotonous sound of the clacking of keys. 

Blearily, cinnamon eyes strayed to the watch fixed on her wrist. It was ten o'clock. Belatedly, she realized she hadn't had anything to eat since two, when one of the juniors had brought in doughnuts. That, and the breakfast that had consisted only of coffee, had been all she'd eaten that day.

Her stomach growled again, demanding food _now. Reluctantly, she gave in, grabbing her purse from its place behind her chair. She cast one last glance at the computer screen, mentally calculating how long it would take her to eat. She pulled on her jacket, jingling the keys in the pocket slightly._

Reaching over, she saved what she had written so far and turned the computer off.

Such was the world of Takenouchi Sora, one of the top journalists for the Tokyo Times. Born and raised in the smaller city of Odaiba, she had passed her journalism degree with honors, and worked her way to the top. She was known to be a hard case, never giving up the chase when it came to a front page story and completely unafraid of the dangerous situations that reporters often faced. That was what made her so damn good. She was utterly and completely ruthless when it came to her job, and was the envy of many of her colleagues, whether they were barely broken in juniors or experienced journalists. 

Outside, the wind whipped around her violently, cold raindrops hitting her upturned face. Sora cursed, pulling her winter-weight jacket more closely around her. The nearest food stall was a five minute walk away. The rain increased steadily, seeming to mock her as she backed under the meager shelter the entrance to the office provided. 

"Need help?" the rich, tenor voice startled her from her thoughts.

She found herself looking into burning blue eyes.

~

He didn't know why he'd said that. He hadn't meant to say anything at all; the sight of the lonely figure standing in the darkened entrance to a building had seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. _Easy prey, his mind had assured him. And now this had happened. He cursed his rotten luck. If only he hadn't spoken, it was as though his mouth had moved on its own initiative. _

He couldn't do it. Those coffee-colored eyes glowed with life, even as they narrowed in suspicion. There was something about this woman. For the first time, he was aware of life. This woman, his intended victim, was alive. The flame burned so brightly that for the first time in countless years, he felt the slightest tinge of fear. He couldn't bring himself to extinguish it.

"What do you want?" her tone was angry, but his sensitive ears picked up a tremble that told him she was more than a little afraid.

He admired her bravery; most would not have been able to keep their voices that steady. "I offered to help you," he replied smoothly, "I assumed you needed help, was I wrong in that assumption?" 

She studied him thoughtfully, pale skin that almost seemed to emit a faint light, intense blue eyes and lips that curved up into a small, slightly condescending smile. That smile galled. He didn't look much older than eighteen, what right did he have to smile at her that way? That, and the way he talked automatically made her assume that he was mocking her. 

"I don't need any help," she said at last, turning away from him to peer upwards at the dark sky, in the hopes that the rain would let up.

_Now! His senses were screaming at him, __Now! While her back is turned! It would have been almost too easy. He felt his incisors lengthen in anticipation of the sweet taste of her blood. Yamato smirked, he didn't want to take the easy way this time. Something told him that this woman was the challenge he'd been after. _

"I didn't mean to scare you. You just looked like you needed some shelter to get to wherever you're going." He indicated upwards to the umbrella that he held in his hand. Slicked with rain, it glistened wetly in the dim light. She wondered how she'd never noticed it before. 

"I…" she wanted to accept, but her pride wouldn't let her. The rain began to pelt down and she sighed, "Thank you." 

~

The bright light from the windows of the busy shop caused them both to squint. With the increased lighting, Sora was able to observe her rescuer more closely. He moved silently, his feet making no noise, even as he picked his way through the puddles that had collected on the ground. Even the wind seemed to make no sound as it rustled the folds of his trenchcoat. 

His blue eyes seemed to be focused somewhere in the distance and for the first time she noticed that his hair was blonde. Even while wet, it fell into his eyes in clumps, making him seem younger than he was. She wondered if her first assumption of his age was wrong. He _looked eighteen, but his eyes and mannerisms made him seem much older. _

She supposed he was good-looking, in a sort of gothic way. His dark clothes contrasted sharply with his pale skin, only his hair and eyes giving some relief to the combination of black and white. 

"Thank you," she said again, pausing awkwardly, "Um…would you like to join me for something to eat? On me of course. Sort of a gesture of appreciation?" 

 He almost laughed at the innocent sounding statement, but a wave of regret swept him. There was a time when he would have accepted, but that time was lost to him. Only the long, lonely years of immortality remained. 

"No," he said softly, "But thank you for the offer." 

He turned to go, leaving her standing in the sheltered entrance of the small shop. His dark clothes had almost blended into the darkness before she mustered the resolve to call him back.

"Wait!" He turned, blue eyes shining with an almost inhuman light. "At least tell me your name." The journalist in her wanted to know, or maybe it was just him, he intrigued her to no end. 

"My name?" he laughed quietly, "You don't need to know my name." He smirked, pale white teeth gleaming in the darkness, "I'm all too certain we'll meet again."

~

The hunger was killing him, gnawing at his insides incessantly. _Fool, he told himself coldly, __You had her. You had her and you let her get away. _

And the question remained, why? Why had he let her go? He had not just let her go, he had escorted her to where she wanted to go. Why would he do such a thing?

Roughly, he pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time enough for those later. He had all of eternity to ponder his out of character behavior. For now, his hunger was all consuming. Eyes narrowed, he searched for his prey.

There. A woman – no, a whore – standing by the roadside. She shivered in the wind, her thin coat doing nothing to protect her barely covered skin. Her hair was an obviously dyed shade of blonde and her painted face revealed unnaturally bright red lips. 

Red. The color of blood. 

Cockily, he strode over, his trenchcoat swirling around at his ankles. He saw no need to pretend to be human anymore, this girl wouldn't live to tell her tale. Soundlessly, he approached her. In contrast to his silent movements, the stiletto heels of her thigh high boots clacked on the ground as she stamped her feet in an effort to keep warm.

"Hello, darling," he purred. 

Her painted mouth stretched into a flirtatious smile, only then he could see that one of the teeth in her lower jaw was crooked. "Hey there big boy," she cooed, reaching up a hand to run through his lank locks, "Looking for a little fun tonight?" 

Close enough to her face to see the mascara that coated her eyelashes. He smiled, showing the enlarged incisors that dominated his mouth. Her eyes widened in fear as she tried to back away. His grip on her wrist tightened and that painted mask of a face screwed up in pain. "Oh," he whispered softly, "I'm definitely in the mood for some fun." 

Those blooded lips moved soundlessly, trying to form words. The smirk on his face grew, there was no confusion as to what this woman was. She was his prey, his chosen, he would have no trouble finishing her off. He lifted her wrist to his own pale lips, kissing the pulse gently, "Don't be scared, darling."

His voice was deceptively soothing as he smiled at her again, "We're just playing a little game." His deep blue eyes captured her emerald ones, "I'm the evil vampire, out to suck your blood, and you're my helpless victim." Perhaps it was his frustration at letting that woman go, but he felt especially sadistic tonight. He kissed the pulse again, all the time keeping his eyes on her, "Let's play," he murmured, biting down.

Her face contorted in pain and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Black streaked tears ran down her face as she tried to cry out for help.

Blood. Warm, thick and sweet. The heavy liquid ran down his throat, fueling his senses like fire. He was perfectly attuned to the woman before him, he could hear her heartbeat matching his own. He drank, letting the liquid rejuvenate him. Slowly, almost painfully, he disengaged himself.

"What's the matter?" he asked, showing her a bloodstained grin, "You don't like my game?" 

"W-what…what _are you?" the voice was a pale imitation of before, trembling and weak. _

He released her wrist and she clutched the appendage to her breast, staring dumbly at the blood that flowed down the limb, staining her clothes. A few faltering steps backwards, her brain was screaming at her to get away. Disorientated from blood loss, she fell to the ground in a shaking heap. "S-stay away!" 

The fear in her voice was evident now.

He crouched beside her, the long hem of his coat dragging on the muddy ground. Almost tenderly, he flicked a strand of bleach blonde hair from her eyes, pushing the strands back and tucking them behind her ear. Cold, caressing fingers combed through the strands, pushing the tangle of hair that obscured her neck away. "There," he whispered, "Much better." 

Her breath was coming in short gasps now and she looked up at him with fear-bright eyes. He ran a finger over her rouged cheek, placing a light kiss on her painted lips. The blood still flowed from the wound he had inflicted. "This won't hurt a bit," he murmured, biting down on her neck.

She tried to scream, but the sound died before it even reached her mouth. His lips moved against her skin, drawing away the precious life fluid that ran in her veins. Weakly, she tried to fend him off. He grabbed her wrists, putting an end to her feeble blows. 

This time, he drank his fill, disengaging only when he felt the body grow cold. Standing, he noticed that she had gotten blood on his coat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, wiping away the blood that coated his chin. Without another look back, he walked away. The girl's fragile body lay on the ground, blood still seeping from her open wounds, falling to mingle with the dirt.

He didn't care. After all, it was all a game.

~

**A/N: Sorry it took so long, writer's block, plus been very busy. R+R please!**

**Website: http://smabbi.onewingedangel.com **

© Abi

2002-04-02


End file.
